For Whom the Bell Tolls
by WazupRose
Summary: During the Second war against Voldemort, many character's stories were not told. Here is a series of one-shots depicting moments in the life of some of the secondary Harry Potter characters during 'the Deathly Hallows'.
1. Dean Thomas: Forged in Flames

**For Whom the Bell Tolls**

 **By WazupRose**

 **Dean Thomas: Forged in Flames**

 **Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any profit from writing this story. JK Rowling owns all, she's just nice enough to let me play in her sandbox.**

 **AN: I've been reading fanfiction for years, but a few months ago I finally made my own account and decided that as long as I have an account, I might as well try writing something. This story will be a series of mostly one-shots that focuses on the minor characters during the Second War against Voldemort (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows), since they don't get expanded upon much in the books. Hopefully it doesn't suck.**

* * *

Dean cursed as more mud leeched through his trainers. He and his companions had been trudging through this swampy land for nearly three hours, and he hadn't been able to get new trainers since he left his family's house. The ones he wore were battered, worn down, and on the edge of breaking. Dean could sympathize; he felt the same way. It was only the stubborn Gryffindor courage and a determination to eventually see his family again that kept him from giving up.

"Come on Dean, keep up. We're sure to find a good spot to camp before dark. Just a bit longer" Ted Tonks whispered encouragingly. A fellow muggleborn on the run, Ted and Dean had agreed to travel together when Ted had helped Dean escape a group of second-rate snatchers. Dean had desperately needed someone with more magical experience, and Ted could not in good conscience leave the seventeen-year-old to fend for himself. Dean knew he could handle it, but the company was nice, and Ted missed his family as well. Traveling with someone was better than traveling alone. 'Though some of his current companions were unexpected' Dean thought with a chuckle.

"What are you laughing about?" muttered Gornuk. The goblin was having even more trouble with the swampland than Dean was. As a goblin, his much smaller height meant reeds smacked at his face and he was near knee deep in muck at times. Gornuk didn't seem quite as bothered by the mud as he did, but Dean couldn't be sure; despite having traveled with Gornuk and his fellow Goblin Griphook for several weeks now, he still wasn't very good at reading the Goblin's expressions.

"I was just thinking of how you tricked Snape about the Sword of Gryffindor. Serves the stupid git and his Death Eater pals right." Both Gornuk and Griphook had both done something against members of the new pure blood regime that put them on the Death Eater's kill list. Though they insisted that this was a wizard's war and they took no side, their pride would not let them submit to some of the more discriminatory demands of the now-ruling pureblood maniacs.

"I didn't trick him, I just didn't correct his mistake. And don't assume I did that as some political statement. I simply wanted revenge against the insolent wizard for his insult to the goblin nation" There was that pride again. Dean wondered if it was universal to Goblins or just a trait of the two he had gotten to know over the past few weeks. He suspected the former. "I would gladly leave with my life on the line than submit to such an indignancy."

"I don't suppose you'll tell us exactly what the Death Eaters did to force you to leave Gringotts, would you, Griphook?" Dirk Cresswell called from behind. The fifth and final member of their little caravan, Dirk had escaped capture halfway to Azkaban. A few days later he met up with Griphook, and then Gornuk. As the former Head of Goblin Liaison Office, the Goblins knew of him and had some respect for him that they seemed to lack for most other wizards and witches. They didn't seem to like Dirk so much as not despise him, but it was better than the slight air of contempt they always appeared to regard Dean and Ted with. At least they didn't openly insult him. Well, usually.

"Bah!" Griphook spat, glaring at Dirk. He had thus far refused to explain why he had to run, but Dean assumed it must have been particularly bad since Griphook seemed to delight in expressing his dislike and distrust of wizards. Dean wished he would tell anyway, as the story might distract him from the way the mud was continuing to soak through the holes in the seams of his trainers and squelched uncomfortably beneath his toes. He grimaced as he stepped in a particularly deep patch. Ted, noticing his expression and his look of disgust toward the offending items, gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

"I'll see what I can do to fix those up when we settle for camp. For now, just soldier on, ok? We'll be there soon."

"But where is there?" Dean asked with a grunt as he climbed over a fallen tree. "We've been walking for hours, couldn't we have just apparated to the spot?"

"Unfortunately, no. It's an area my wife suggested. She had visited there as a child, and its surrounded by wards and protective enchantments. It belonged to my wife's uncle Alphard. Or was it cousin? I'm not exactly sure. The Black family tree is confusing. The point is, the Death Eaters shouldn't think to check there as it's technically a Black residence, but Alphard left it to Dromeda, so none of her psychotic family members should be there. We couldn't go there before since she had to file the paperwork that would let her claim it in secret so no one would get suspicious. Should be good now though." Ted smiled happily, as he always did when he thought of his wife. As a pure blood, she wasn't in any danger, and her help in securing a safe house was certainly appreciated.

"Still doesn't explain why we're not there yet. There can't be three hours of walking worth of wards surrounding it." Dean had to work to keep the whine from his voice. He was seventeen and not in a situation where he could afford to do so.

"Yes, it's a bit strange," Ted muttered, "Andy's instructions should put us around here. Granted, it's been a long time since she was there. She might have gotten the directions a bit off. I was in a hurry to leave when she gave them to me, the Death Eater were all but going door to door looking for unregistered muggleborns."

"Oi, Ted! Are we nearly there or not? If we have to walk any more the mud will become a permanent part of my feet." Apparently Dirk was just as annoyed with the swampy environment as Dean was if his irritated comment was anything to judge by.

"It will be dark soon too. Best not to capture attention with lights at night" Griphook muttered. The crotchety goblin was right, the sky had turned pink and orange and his tattered trainers were getting increasingly hard to see. Soon the first stars would appear and with that night being a new moon, travel would become impossible without detection.

"How about we just find the driest patch we can manage for tonight, and set out in the morning when we can see better" Dean suggested.

"Sounds good to me." Dirk replied. Glancing around with a raised eyebrow he snorted softly "No dry patches around here though, so just pick a spot and we'll dry it the best we can."

"Here," Gornuk said, pointing to an area near a cluster of swamp trees, "best spot there is in this environment." Dean could see what he meant; the roots of the trees would mean less muddy water, and the overhang of the branches would help block the view of the tent were their protective spells to fail.

Dirk waved his wand and the tent sprang up, fully prepared for the fugitives to use. Dean felt a pang of jealousy- that spell never worked that well for him. All five of the exhausted humans and goblins worked in silence to finish the rest of the chores for the night, including the warding and dinner. It wasn't until the sun had set and stars littered the sky that Dean finally had enough energy to look at his dirty trainers.

"Let me see them" Ted muttered quietly from the other armchair in the living room of their magically expanded tent. The tent was one Ted had taken with him on the run, and for Dean was a welcome change in comparison to the crummy motels and occasionally alleyways he had been sleeping in before.

"Shouldn't be too hard to fix. Just some repairing charms, if I can get them right. Dromeda's better at them" Ted said after giving the trainers a glance over. He began fixing them with some reparo's and a few other spells Dean didn't know. As Ted worked, Dean stared at the lamp on the table. Being in a tent, a fireplace wasn't practical, and could attract too much attention. Dean missed the blazing fireplace of the Gryffindor common room, where he would fool around with Seamus or watch Harry lose to Ron at wizards' chess for the one-hundredth time. He missed the smaller but no less warm fireplace of his home, with his parents and sisters. Dean clenched his jaw and swallowed back tears. He suddenly hated this lantern and its sorry imitation of a fireplace.

"You know, Dromeda and I bought this tent for our retirement. I love camping, though Dromeda's a bit less enthusiastic. We hoped that we might be able to camp sometimes with our daughter, Dora. She's pregnant, you know? I'm going to be a grandfather. We'd bring the grandkid too when he or she is old enough. We wanted it to be a bonding thing we could all do together." Ted muttered in a quiet voice. "We never really saw it being used this way. On the run from our own government for the crime of being born."

There was sad, slightly bitter look on Ted's face as he too looked at the flickering lamp. He let out a deep sigh, and his eyes slipped close in weariness. Dean could sympathize, as he too felt the bone-deep exhaustion that came with being on the run. With Snatchers all over and Death Eaters raiding villages, Dean had to constantly look over his shoulder, always tense and alert for a threat. Even in times of relative safety, hidden behind wards in the enchanted tent, it was difficult to relax.

"I was supposed to go back to Hogwarts this year." Dean muttered, looking at his feet. "I was going to be a chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. It was my last year, Newt exams year. Then off into the real world. I thought I might play professionally. Or maybe I'd do something related to charms. I don't know. Won't happen now though. All I want now is to see my parents and sisters again."

Dean thought back to when he had left. How he had to explain to his parents the situation in the wizarding world. He'd tried to keep them ignorant about what was going on before then, but for their own safety, he was forced to tell them when You-Know-Who took over the ministry. His step-father's shocked eyes, and his mother's tearful horrified face flashed before him. Both were angry that he had previously kept them in the dark, and terrified for their oldest safety, especially as he explained the reasons for his fleeing. His little sisters though… they didn't understand why their big brother was leaving and why their parents were so upset. He had explained things in vague terms to twelve year old Laura, and charged her with looking out for their younger sister. Her determined face hid her confusion and fear, and his heart nearly broke as he left her. Her last words to him echoed hollowly in his ears. 'Be careful Dean. Please come back soon.'

He looked back up at the lamp and swallowed to get rid of the choking feeling in his throat. It just wasn't fair. How had the wizarding world come to this? And why did he have to wade through swamps instead of fighting back?

They sat in silence for a length of time, the atmosphere morose as each contemplated all they had lost. Ted suddenly straightened up, and taking a deep breath, looked at Dean with determined blue eyes. "But we can't give up. We can't give in. It's hard to remember sometimes, but you and I, we can remind each other. We can remember what we have to go on for. Our families, our friends, the entire wizarding world. Just by surviving, we are winning. It might not feel like it, but every day we go on is a day closer to the war being over and muggleborns like us being free to live our lives in peace."

"And when the war is over and we can come out of hiding", Dirk cut in from the doorway, "we need to be there to tell our stories. The real story of how muggleborns suffered in this war. Because people forget, and new generations don't always listen to the stories their elders tell. If we want to stop something like this from happening again, we must be able to tell our story, get it down on paper, and make sure it's out there forever, so no one will forget."

For a moment there was silence as the three wizards contemplated Dirks words. Then Dirk broke the quiet.

"It's your turn for keeping watch Ted," Dirk muttered, "Merlin knows I need the sleep."

"Go on, I'll go out in a minute" Ted replied. Dirk slipped past to the back room, where a few bunk beds stood. Ted turned back to Dean and offered a tired but warm smile.

"Well, sounds like I've got a job to do." Ted said "but first-" Ted reached down and grabbed Dean's trainers. The once wretched shoes were cleaned and repaired. They were still scuffed and worn down, but they were stronger now and would last a while longer. "They might not be new, but don't doubt them; their scars show their strength, and their ability to endure." Ted gave him a friendly squeeze on the shoulder and strode outside to take up his watch.

Dean stared at the trainers. They were just shoes, and it was silly really, but, if they could be fixed and endure running from snatchers and hiking through swamps…maybe he could to. And when the time came, maybe they could both do more. They say your shoes tell stories. The dust and dirt that cakes the underside says where the shoe has been, and the wear tells what the shoe has done. When the war was over, maybe he could tell the stories of where he had been and what he had done. As Ted had said, for his family, for his friends, and for the entire wizarding world. For now, Dean just wanted to go to bed.

* * *

Dean woke up to the sound of banging and screams.

Rolling out of bed, he cursed as the sheets tangled about his legs and sent him crashing to the floor. He quickly pulled the sheets off and leapt to his feet, grabbing his wand in the process. He tore through the living room, knocking down the table lamp in the process, and barreled out the tent door only to be stopped short by a wand to his throat. His own wand was roughly pulled from his hand.

"Well lookie here, another mudblood. A young one, by the looks of him" a sallow faced man faced him, a cruel grin adorning his face, "What's your name mudblood?"

Dean stayed silent, terror clogging his throat. He had no doubt they were Snatchers, which meant they could be very dangerous, and he had no wand. He turned his head slightly to see if the others had been captured.

A figure lay prone on the ground. Fair hair mixed with blood, the figures chest did not move. Only one member of their group was blonde. With rising horror, Dean realized he was looking at Ted Tonk's dead body. The choking feeling increased. Dean felt sick.

"I asked you a question mudblood!" the Snatcher growled, digging his wand in deeper into his jugular. "What's your name?"

"D-Dean Thomas" Dean stuttered, so shocked by Ted's death that he couldn't even think of lying. Ted, who had always comforted him when he was frustrated and angry. Ted, who had repaired his shoes without even having to be asked. Ted, who had never given up faith that the war would end and they would win. Ted, who had a wife and daughter and a grandchild on the way.

Ted, who would never get to know his grandchild's name.

"Huh" the Snatcher muttered, "Well, you're on the list of muggleborns. That's ten galleons for me."

"Ten galleons for us Scabior" a voice growled from the shadows. With a slosh of swamp water a fierce face with cold eyes appeared, holding the bloody form of Dirk. "I got another one right here. He's the one that used the name, so thanks for that vermin" the cold-eyes Snatcher said, shaking Dirk's dazed form. Dirk met Dean's eyes, and even through his obvious concussion Dean could see his horrified apology, for getting them caught. Then, Dirk's gaze moved to Ted's corpse and his eyes shut, his face twisting in grief. They may not have known each other well before the war, but spending so much time evading capture had made all three wizards fond of one another, and it was painful to see Ted gone.

"Any others?" the Cold-eyed Snatcher asked the other Snatcher, Scabior, as he eyed Dean with a harsh glare.

"Two goblins- one's dead, got in the way of a cutting curse. The other one's bound over there." Dean saw Griphook lying sideways, swamp water no doubt getting in his eyes, and hands bound behind his back. That meant that Gornuk was dead. Dean wasn't as close to the Goblins as he was his human friends, but they were still traveling companions and sort of allies, so it pained Dean to know Gornuk was gone.

"Tie this one up with him" the Snatcher not holding him growled, gesturing to Dean. Scabior poked the wand to his back, obviously wanting Dean to move over to Griphook to be tied up. Dean stumbled for a moment, and his head turned slightly, putting Ted in his line of sight.

Suddenly, fury over took him. He was a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake, and here he was being effortlessly pushed around by the enemy. He was angry at the snatchers for killing his friends, and angry at the wizarding world for letting the war happen by burying their heads in the sand. He felt guilty for not being able to do more to save Ted and Gornuk, guilty he wasn't able to do more in the war and to protect his family. Most of all, he was angry at the man who had started this nightmare, and whose very name increased the death toll every time it was uttered. Something inside him snapped, and the old Dean came back out, the Dean who had stood up to Umbridge and fought against the enemy.

He let his head snap back, hitting Scabior's face with a sickening crunch that promised a broken nose. Dean's head hurt from the blow, but he didn't let that stop him. He grabbed Scabior's fallen wand as Scabior doubled over in pain and whirled around to stun the cold-eyed snatcher, only to find the man already in front of him with his wand pointed at Dean.

"You really think you're the first one we've snatched to try to pull some kind of trick?" the man asked. With a snarl Dean thought back to DA lessons and remembered one of Harry's favorite spells.

"Expelliarmus!" the cold-eyed man's wand flew out of his hand and Dean smiled in grim triumph.

Suddenly Dean found his body frozen, and he crashed to the ground. Scabior glared at him from above, blood leaking from his now crooked nose. Despite his position in the muddy ground, Dean felt a savage satisfaction as he saw the injury. He hoped it hurt.

"Episkey" Scabior muttered as best he could, and his nose snapped back into place. "I carry two wands so that vermin like you can't get the drop on me" Scabior sneered.

The other man joined Scabior in looming over Dean, dropping the barely conscious Dirk as he did so. "Do you know who I am Mudblood? I'm Fenrir Greyback. If it was the full moon, I'd rip your miserable hide to pieces. For now I'll have to settle for this." Greyback leaned down and punched him several times in the face, hard enough to leave what Dean knew would be considerable bruises. "Maybe now you'll have learned to respect your superiors."

"Tie him up" Greyback ordered, and Scabior levitated him over to where Griphook lied. Ropes snapped around his hands. Dean tugged at the ropes, but they were tightly bound. A few feet away he heard Greyback growl furiously.

"What's wrong?" Scabior questioned, glancing over to where Greyback was leaned over Dirk's form.

"He's dead" Greyback grunted, "died from his injuries from the looks of it."

"Damn it Greyback, I said not to be so rough with them! A dead mudblood isn't worth a Knut, now is it? That's ten galleons wasted." Dirk was dead. Another of his friends was dead. And these Snatchers were just upset about how that wasted galleons. His pervious fury chilled to an icy rage.

"Don't you lecture me Scabior! Don't forget who's in charge here! We'll just have to take what we've got and keep looking tonight."

Scabior sneered, but none the less grabbed Dean and Griphook by the arm, preparing to apparate.

"One last thing." Greyback muttered. "Incendio." The flames spewed out of his wand and onto the tent. Greyback kept it up until the fireproof charms broke and the tent began to burn.

"Alright, let's go" Greyback strode over to Scabior. Dean turned for one last look at their ruined campsite. The new moon provided no light, but the burning tent, Ted's dreams for the future, crackled brightly as it burned to ashes. The flames highlighted the man's body, as well as Dirk's, both left to rot now in the mud. Dean hoped someone found them. Their families deserved to be able to bury them.

Dean thought about Ted's last words to him. About how he couldn't give up, for the sake of everyone he cared about, and so people could go on to live their lives without fearing Death Eaters were around the corner. He thought about Dirk's last words to him, about telling his story so the world would not forget about those who suffered in the war, and so that history would not repeat itself. Dean stared at the scene before him, letting the bodies and flaming tent burn the image into his memory. When the time came to fight, he would be ready. For his family. For his friends. For Ted and Dirk and Gornuk. His arm was suddenly jerked, and the image was lost in the blur of apparition.

* * *

 **A/N: Thoughts? Any feedback would be nice, even if its just a few words. Also, if you want to suggest any characters, I can't guarantee I'll write them, but I will try.**

 **Also, JK has revealed on Pottermore that Dean's father was a wizard, but didn't tell his wife. He was killed in the First war when he refused to join the Death Eaters. Dean never knew the truth.**


	2. Fleur Delacour: Strange Faces

**For Whom the Bell Tolls**

 **By WazupRose**

 **Fleur Delacour: Strange Faces**

 **Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any profit from writing this story. JK Rowling owns all, she's just nice enough to let me play in her sandbox.**

 **This chapter is dedicated to those who were killed or injured in the Barcelona terrorist attack, and anyone who faces violence in a country that is not their own.**

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"Fleur!" she heard a voice scream. "Fleur! Where are you? Fleur!"

Surrounding her was pure chaos. All the wedding guests were panicked, many screaming and disapparating. From somewhere she could hear a child crying in terror before the sound was abruptly cut off. Whether the child had been killed or escaped, she didn't know. Masked figures in pitch black robes threw spells at any who remained, and booms were heard as spells blew up the delicate golden chairs that had been part of her wedding decorations. Some of the more experienced Order members were fighting back, but the Death Eater numbers were overwhelming and many of her allies were retreating.

Turning she saw Remus and Tonks hurling shield charms around each other, and through the smoke was Fred and George back to back, fighting off enemies from all sides. Again, she heard that voice cry out.

"Fleur! Fleur, please answer! Fleur!" Bill. That was Bill's panicked shout, Fleur suddenly realized.

"I'm here!" she called out, hoping her cry would attract Bill rather than a Death Eater.

A figure emerged out of the smoke. With his best robes torn, and the long scars over his face, Bill would normally look dangerous. But this was far from normal, and Bill didn't look dangerous, he looked terrified. Scared, she realized, for his family and for her.

"We need to leave," Bill gasped as he swiped at the blood that was dripping into his eye, "We have to go, there's too many".

Suddenly he lurched forward, then fell to the ground. Behind him stood a masked figure pointing a wand at her face. A spell hit her from the side and her wand flew from her hand. 'Expelliarmus' she thought faintly 'The disarming spell'. Figures surrounded her in every direction, wands held aloft.

"You've lost this battle. Stand down or we will be forced to harm you." called a loud voice from across the golden flooring. Through the clearing smoke Fleur could see that they were surrounded by a mix of Death Eaters and British Ministry employees. Only a few people remained; most either Weasleys or Order members. Fleur felt a brief stab of relief that most of the guests, her family included, had managed to escape. Than that relief turned to fear. None of her remaining allies had wands anymore, and their numbers were too few to fight the encroaching enemy. The man was right- they had lost.

The man was dressed in ministry robes, but had a cruel glint to his eyes. He took a step toward the defeated group and sneered. "All of you are to line up here. If any of you run, resist, or cause problems, you will be tortured. You are all being held for questioning over the location of Harry Potter. Start lining up." The man pointed to a spot near the edge of the golden flooring.

No one moved. The man whispered something to the Death Eaters closest to him, and Fleur caught Ginny's eye. The younger girl looked frightened and uncertain, but had her jaw clenched and her fists balled. Fleur subtly shook her head. This was not a good time to be starting fights. Fleur slowly started walking to where the man had indicated they were to stand. Glancing behind her she saw Ginny following on stiff legs, obviously angry but holding her temper. Fleur was glad, as these men and women seemed like they would be willing to follow through with their threats.

The Death Eaters broke off from the man and began reviving those who were unconscious. A particularly tall Death Eater woke Bill and shoved him towards the line before he had a chance to argue. He stumbled for a moment before catching her eye and hurrying over to her.

"Fleur, what happened? What do- "

"Shhh," she interrupted with a nervous glance at the nearby ministry official, "we must stay in line, and stay quiet and cooperative. Eef we do not, we may be tortured."

Bill stared at her for a few seconds, before taking the place at her side. She knew it pained her husband to submit to the Death Eaters, but right now they had no choice. Arthur and Charlie Weasley quickly joined the line after being enervated, and for a moment all that broke the silence was the shuffling of feet.

"Search the house" the ministry man commanded, gesturing to a nearby Death Eater. "I want every last corner checked for any sign of Harry Potter. You capture him or find any information on him, bring it directly to me."

The Death Eater and three others quickly strode to the Burrow. Seconds after entering, several loud crashes could be heard. Fleur flinched slightly at the sound, and winced at Molly's small pained sob. The man strode in front of the line and gazed at them with harsh eyes.

"As for the lot of you, we have information that the Weasleys are close to Harry Potter. You will all submit for questioning. If you do not you will be considered in league with a criminal and will be treated accordingly. I'll start with this one." The man pointed to Remus Lupin, and Fleur's dread increased. Remus followed the man, and Bill slipped his hand into hers. Closing her eyes, she prayed they would all get out alive.

* * *

It was near midnight when the Death Eaters finally left. While still obviously suspicious of the Weasleys' and their friends, they could find no proof that Harry was at the house. While they vigorously questioned all their hostages, no one gave away any important information and no one mentioned where Harry had gone. Eventually the assortment of Death Eaters and Ministry officials departed, leaving a warning that were any of them to be in contact with Harry and not inform the proper sources, they would be tried as criminals.

Fleur would certainly not be listening to that. If she saw Harry before this war ended, she would offer what help she could give, not turn him over. It was a bit ridiculous that the warning was even given; the chances of anyone who was questioned giving away Harry was almost none, and the Ministry knew it.

Now it was near five in the morning. Efforts had been made to get the house back in order, largely thanks to Molly's exceptional cleaning and mending charms, and most of the others had either left for their own homes or were sleeping in their recently mended beds. As much as she wished to, Fleur could not fall asleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw flashes of spells and heard the scream of a child. While she now knew the child had be taken away to safety, the sound still haunted her. She eventually gave up on sleeping and slipped downstairs to the front porch. It was dark out, but the summer air kept the night warm and a lamp provided some light. She sat on the cushioned wooden chair and stared into the darkness.

The attack had been a shock for her. While she had seen the aftereffects of the battle at Hogwarts this past June, she had not participated in the actual fight itself. This was a long cry from the somewhat controlled environment of the Triwizard Tournament, and nothing like her peaceful home in France. It was open warfare, with a government that captured and tortured its people on whim and where peoples' homes were invaded and destroyed. Most hauntingly of all, this was a time when small children's screams ripped through the night.

"Fleur? Are you sitting out here in the dark?" Bill's concerned eyes met hers as he stepped through the doorway. He quietly sat down in the chair next to hers and turned to face her. "Have you slept at all? You look exhausted."

"Zere eez an Eenglish expression I zink works well 'ere, about glass 'ouses and stones? You look exhausted as well my love."

Bill sighed and rubbed at his eyes before looking back at her "I found it hard to sleep. I kept seeing-" Bill stopped abruptly and swallowed harshly, looking away from her and into the night. Fleur took his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.

"I could only 'ere screams in my ear as I tried to sleep. A child's scream. 'ow-" she faltered for a moment before drawing a deep breath and continuing " but 'ow can zey do somezing like zis? 'ow can a 'ole government just turn on its people?" Wizarding France had not seen war since Grindewald's day. While Voldemort was a threat to France before his defeat, violence never spread to her home country. She could vaguely remember her Papa and Maman talking about it as a child, but she hadn't paid it much significance until she came to Hogwarts to compete in the tournament. At the end, viewing Harry's bloody body and Cedric's corpse had shaken her and inspired her to pay more attention to the island's dark wizard Voldemort. While she wasn't sure what to believe, she read some accounts of the war in Britain so she would be better informed. The accounts were frightening at times, and filled with violence and death. But no book could have prepared her for the reality she was now facing.

"I can remember some of the first war." Bill said in a soft voice, still staring out into the darkness. "I was only a child then, but it was hard to escape mentions of it. We had all sorts of rules; Charlie and I couldn't leave the garden without someone watching us, we always had to watch what we said and who we talked to. Saying the wrong thing to the wrong person could get your whole family killed. And my family was already on the hit list, you know? Especially on my mum's side since her brothers were in the Order then. It was a terrifying time to grow up, but I learned a few important things. One of those things is that you can't explain the behavior of maniacs like the Death Eaters and You-Know-Who. You can't spend time trying to figure out why they believe the things they do either. You can just hold tight to your own beliefs and fight back however you can."

"My childhood was not like zat." Fleur murmured in reply. " eet was peaceful and 'appy, and zere was no war." Fleur broke off with a choked sob, and Bill pulled her into his arms.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" he whispered to her as he held her shaking form.

"No," Fleur pulled herself upright and took a deep breath, "No, you 'ave no reason to be sorry. Zis…zis is just 'ow life goes sometimes. Unexpected zings 'appen and we must take zem as zey come. Eet is just.. eet is difficult to face so terrifying an enemy in a country I 'ardly belong to." And that was the crux of the matter. For all that she'd spent time working at Gringotts and meeting new people in Britain, she still did not feel comfortable in her new country yet. France had been her home for years, and this new country was filled with unfamiliar things and strange faces. She hadn't had time to accustom herself to the cultural differences a new country presented before the Death Eaters took over. Now it seemed Britain had gone mad and she was left rudderless, tossed and turned by the waves in an unforgiving sea of uncertainty.

She voiced all of these confusing thoughts to Bill in the crisp pre-dawn air, and he just smiled gently, as if he had known her worries and already knew how to solve them. That was always what she had liked best about her husband; his quiet confidence and talent for understanding people's problems. It was a somewhat rare gift to find in a person, and she was grateful that it was such a defining personality trait for Bill.

He rose from his seat and offered a hand, pulling her to her feet. The first signs of dawn were starting to become apparent, and the edges of the horizon were cast pink, while orange rays split the sky from where the sun would soon appear. "I was going to show you this next week," he whispered with a gentle smile, "but I think now would be a better time to do so. I'll apparate us there." Bill clutched her hand and turned on the spot. The world around her blurred and then refocused to the sound of the waves and the smell of the sea.

* * *

Bill had apparated her to a small cottage at the edge of the sea. It was supposed to be a surprise gift for her after their wedding since Bill knew she loved watching the ocean water.

"It's not ready to be lived in yet," Bill said with a twinge of nervousness in his voice. "I had meant to show you after I got some basic furnishings, so I would feel a bit more like a home. But, ah, I suppose you would like to be able to pick our furnishings anyway, huh?" He shuffled his feet slightly, smiling hesitantly and watching Fleurs reaction. "Do you like it?"

Fleur looked around the small but charming cottage. It was hard to judge the interior while it was so empty, but Fleur believed it had potential. No matter where she was in the house, she could hear the waves crash against the rock. She slipped outside and walked around the exterior of the house. Green vines climbed up the side of the cottage, and in the spring Fleur suspected they would be covered in flowers. In the back of the house, right behind the back door, there was a small plot ready for gardening. Fleur found the house itself enchanting.

Finally she reached the area behind the house, which stood on a cliff overlooking the ocean. The walls of the cliff were white washed and covered in hundreds of shells. The sound of the ocean filled her ears at full force, and for the first time since Kingsley's message brought news of the Ministry's fall, Fleur relaxed. She could smell the salty scent of the ocean, and even though the water was far below her she could almost feel the crashing waves. Bill stepped up and wrapped his arms around her.

"Well?" he asked with a tilt of his head as he leaned over her shoulder to gaze at her.

"Hmmm, I like eet. So close to ze sea… eet is very relaxing, to 'ear the water even from ze 'ouse." Fleur leaned back into Bill's warm chest, soaking up the comfort he offered her.

"Well that was the intent. I'm glad" Bill smiled down at Fleur. At the edge of the sea, where wave and sky met, the sun appeared to be just breaking the water's surface. The sky lit up with shades of orange and yellow, and the calm sea reflected the colors in ever changing ripples that left Fleur in awe. For several minutes they stood in silence, until Bill broke it with a question.

"What should we call this cottage of ours? I picked the location, so you get to pick the name" he told her with a teasing smile.

"Zat is 'ardly fair, you picked zis place for me." Fleur countered. The mischievous grin on her husband's face, however, told Fleur she would be better off just suggesting a name instead of starting an argument, however friendly.

Fleur thought about what the name should be. After what happened the day before, she wanted it to have a deep sort of significance to her, something to remind her in hard times why she had to go on. She thought of all the struggles she faced, at being a foreigner, a strange face in a country at war. Her struggles seemed to lie mostly with her sudden lack of identity and stability. But this cottage, it would become her stability. It was an empty shell right now, but with time, it would fill with memories and love, and perhaps eventually children. This shell of a cottage would help her build a place here in Britain, and would give her an identity. She glanced at all the shells that adorned the cliff walls, and suddenly she had an answer.

"Shell Cottage," she whispered. In a stronger voice, she turned to face Bill and said, "I want eet to be called Shell Cottage"

Bill smiled his gentle, knowing smile and kissed her softly. Pulling back, he murmured "That's perfect."

The two of them watched the sun climb over the horizon for a half hour before apparating back to the Burrow. As Fleur helped Mrs. Weasley with breakfast, she thought back to the confusion and fear of the attack. While it still upset her, knowing that she had a place in Britain and that life would go on despite Voldemort's attacks was a comfort to her. As horrible as he may be, Voldemort and his Death Eaters could not stop her from creating a home here, and Shell Cottage was proof of this. She just had to build her place here, and remember the potential the future held. If she could do that, Fleur thought with a smile, she would be alright.

* * *

 **So I had a harder time connecting to Fleur as a character and I think that was reflected in the quality of this chapter. Sorry about that, I tried my best. Also, don't worry about Bill's lack of appearance and character. The focus is supposed to be on Fleur, but he'll get his own chapter later on.**

 **Fleur's accent guide**

 **z = th**

 **' = h**

 **ee = i**

 **eez = is**

 **' = wh (sometimes)**

 **Awesome people review. Just saying...**


	3. Dudley Dursley: Violent Delights

**For Whom The Bell Tolls**

 **By WazupRose**

 **Dudley Dursley: Violent Delights**

 **"These violent delights have violent ends" -Romeo and Juliet**

 **A/N- Hello again! Its been a long year, but I finally have another chapter. This one focuses on Dudley Dursley. Flashbacks are in italics and there is a warning for the (sort-of) death of a child.**

 **Disclaimer- I don't own the Harry Potter series, so I own nothing here. Dialogue was taken from Order of the Phoenix and The Deathly Hallows. The title and quote come from Shakespeare's play Romeo and Juliet, and I don't own that either.**

* * *

The T.V. blared loudly in the living room of number four Privet Drive. The newscaster voice floating out of the open window was the only interruption to the stifling silence characteristic to Little Whinging during the hot summer months. Visible in the open upstairs window of the house was a rather pudgy teenage boy, sitting on his bed with a comic book in his lap. While initially intent upon his comic, the boy suddenly looked up as a breaking news segment drifted up to his ears

"-for today's breaking news."

"Thanks Angela. For the news today, an urgent situation has developed in central London. A bomb has gone off in a crowded street, killing 15 and injuring many more. The bomb went off at 11:34 this morning and has caused mass destruction, loss of life, and property damage to nearby store owners. No information is known about the perpetrators, but speculation has been cast on both terrorist groups and several of the prisoners of the mass breakout earlier this year. This is the fifth incident involving an explosion this year, and-"

The boy heaved himself off the bed and pushed the window shut. The newscaster may not know where to place the blame for the sudden upsurge in violence, but Dudley Dursley had the unfortunate privilege of knowing the truth. The 'bombs,' along with other incidents such as collapsed bridges and massive gas leaks, were not random accidents or the work of an ordinary terrorists' cell. Dudley knew the frightening truth; this was the act of terrorism lead by criminals with magic. Much like the comic he had been reading, but Dudley knew that unlike his comic, the bad guys here could win.

"Dudley! Is your bag ready?" his dad called up the stairs. It was their twelfth time reloading the car with everything they would need to move away. The beginning of the summer, as usual, had brought his cousin Harry Potter back from his school. What was unusual this time was the visit from two others like Harry, one a dark-skinned man with a calming aura called Kingsley and the other the father of those awful twin boys who had caused his tongue to grow to an enormous and painful length. Dudley had been prepared to dislike the two on principle (and anyone else related to those twins really), but the news they carried was dire. A war had broken out among their kind. Muggles would be targeted, and as the family to Harry Potter they would be one of the biggest targets. The Kingsley man (who Dudley guessed wasn't all that bad) said for their own protection they had to move, and his dad took it about as well as Dudley would have expected. Despite his dad's loud and angry complaints, he did initially agree to move, but had been changing his mind back and forth ever sense.

"Be down in a minute!" he called back. He hadn't even bothered to unpack his bags this time, but instead shoved them in his closet for when his father decided to make him lug them downstairs again. He grabbed the first bag and heaved it to the front door, then huffed upstairs for the second. Dudley was about to bring down the second bag when he glanced at his closet and stopped. If he remembered correctly, he still had a pair of dumbbells in there somewhere that his dad would struggle to lift. Dudley dug them out and added them to the bag. It would serve his dad right for continuously changing his mind.

Once he brought the second bag to the door, he strode into the kitchen and grabbed some crisps. As he was eating them his cousin walked inside, done with weeding the garden and likely going to wash up.

Harry. There was a complicated topic. Dudley didn't quite know what to think about him. He had been raised by his parents to hate Harry and everything he represented. As a child, Dudley had always gone with whatever his parents said. According to them, Harry was the opposite of normal. They never really explained why he was so abnormal, only that he was. With no-one contradicting these views Dudley accepted what his parents told him; his cousin was abnormal, and Dudley was better than his cousin. He could pick on Harry all he wanted with no consequences, so Harry Hunting became a great source of entertainment. If he whined enough about Harry, he could get things out of his mum she wouldn't otherwise give him. As a youth all this seemed brilliant and he could find no problems with his life. At seventeen, the darkness that ran through his house was glaringly obvious.

The change, he pondered, first came when he was fifteen.

 _Flashback_

 _"See ya, Big D!" Piers called out before taking off with the rest of the gang. Gordon waved a final goodbye and his best friends rounded the corner toward their respective homes. Dudley shoved his hands in his pockets and turned toward Magnolia Road to head home. He hummed some pop tune he heard on the radio as he considered the kid they beat up today. Reginald had it coming really, considering the insults the younger boy had thrown at Malcolm and Gordon. The kid certainly wouldn't forget to show proper respect now, and if he did all he had to do is look in the mirror at the black ring around his eye to remember._

 _"Hey Big D!" a familiar voice said mockingly._

 _Dudley turned around to see his irritating cousin's sharp grin and acid green eyes staring back. If he had disliked his cousin when he was younger, that was nothing compared to how he felt now. Instead of the helpless and pathetic kid Harry used to be, he could now use magic to do whatever he wanted. He had the backing of a whole community of others like him at his beck and call, and Dudley hated it. Life was much simpler when the most dangerous thing about his cousin was the possibility of him spitting into Dudley's bacon. Now however irritating Harry was Dudley couldn't deck him without fear of some magical (probably redheaded) person coming to give him a pig's tail or grow his tongue out._

 _"Oh," he grunted with a nasty look at Harry. "It's you."_

 _"How long have you been 'Big D' then?" his cousin smirked._

 _"Shut it." He snarled back. It was actually a recently given name that Piers had invented. Though somewhat unoriginal, it made him the leader of his group, so Dudley was proud of the title._

 _Harry seemed less than impressed and continued to mock him. Dudley bet he'd never dare to do so if he didn't have his stick-wand thing that all these magical people carried. Their argument continued as they walked further along Magnolia Road, quickly shifting from his nickname to Dudley's gang to Dudley mocking Harry's nightmares. Apparently that was the wrong thing to mock his cousin about, as Harry whipped his wand out and shoved it into Dudley's chest._

 _Dudley's heart pounded. Every past experience with magic had shown him that when magical objects were pointed at him (or used on him, or ate by him, or even just in his general vicinity) bad things happened. Harry was normally snarky, rude, and annoying, but his had never had this sort of murderous rage in his eyes before. Dudley was actually worried that Harry would try to kill him. Who knows what Harry was taught in that magic school of his. He could be trained in how to kill or torture people and Dudley wouldn't be able to stop him, cause Dudley wasn't cursed with (wasn't gifted with) magic._

 _"Point that thing somewhere else!" he cried as his hands began to shake._

 _"I said, do you understand me?" Harry snarled._

 _"Point it somewhere else!"_

 _"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? Harry shouted._

 _"GET THAT THING AWAY FROM-" Dudley stated to yell back when a startling wave of cold came over him. The night suddenly seemed darker, and all the normal suburban sounds disappeared. Dudley froze in terror, certain that his cousin was preparing for some ritual to dismember him and use his body parts in potions. Harry wouldn't stop whatever this was despite Dudley's protests, so Dudley used his rather impressive right hook to punch Harry in the side of the head, hoping to knock him out. As Harry fell to the ground Dudley took off running._

 _In his determination to get away from his potentially murderous cousin, Dudley forgot about his lack of vision. With a painful oomph he collided with the alley fence, and then with something so cold he thought he felt frost gather on his shirt. Before his could take another step his vision swam, and memories began to flash before his eyes with terrible clarity._

 _He was six years old and strapping on his new Velcro shoes. His cousin was behind him, struggling to tie the laces on his dirty secondhand trainers as the two got ready for their first day of school. Suddenly his Dad came around the corner and grabbed Harry harshly by the shoulder, shoving the boy against the wall. His Dad hissed threats to Harry, about how he had better not do anything freakish at school or he would regret it. Dad shook Harry several times for emphasis before letting him go. As Harry fell painfully to the ground, Dudley's dad turned to Dudley and patted his on the shoulder, proclaiming how proud he was of his Dudley finally going to school. Dudley smiled and agree with his dad but couldn't turn his attention fully from his skinny little cousin on the floor. It was the first time Dudley recognized the difference between how he and his cousin were treated. Dudley felt something uncomfortable in his chest as he watched Harry return to tying his shoeless and discretely wipe his tears, but with the promise of an afterschool ice cream celebration he pushed the feeling away. It was an action he would become very familiar with._

 _He was eight and he and Piers were chasing Harry by the school buildings. It was their favorite game, and having Piers as a friend made the running worth it. Dudley knew how this game ended-how it always ended- just so long as he could catch his much faster little cousin. As they rounded the corner to a dead end near the art building, Harry turned with a mix of fear, anger and defeat in his eyes. Piers grabbed his arms and held him down as Dudley began punching him. Harry's struggles were useless against the much larger boys, and as Dudley continued his punching, he shoved the strange feeling out of his chest again._

 _He was nine and his Dad was yelling at Harry for some sort of freakishness he had done at school. With a final angry bellow, Dad grabbed Harry by the hair and pulled him toward the cupboard under that stairs. Harry tumbled into the small space and Dad slammed the door shut. Dudley kicked the cupboard as he walked by and taunted Harry about the lack of food he would soon face (a typical punishment that came with the an extended stay in the cupboard). The feeling was barely present and easy to ignore._

 _He was eleven and his cousin had just gone who knows where to study freakish magic stuff. Suddenly Dudley and his gang were down a target. He had to do something to keep Piers and Gordon around. Across the playground he saw Dillon Brookes reading in the shade of the tree. Nearly as weak as Harry, Dillon would be easy to beat up. With a nasty grin he motioned to Piers and the group headed toward their new target._

 _He was twelve and watching as his dad attached bars to his cousin's window. He could see Harry's tension filled face in the corner of the window as he was sentenced to stay imprisoned in the small room…_

 _He was thirteen and had just sent an eight-year-old girl home with a split lip and black eye…_

 _He was almost fourteen and Cynthia Davis had switched schools due to a bully she was too scared to identity. She left the school in tears, and Dudley felt nothing but satisfaction…_

 _He was fourteen and hated the diet he was forced to eat, but at least Harry still got a lot less than him. Harry's shirt shifted, and Dudley realized Harry was so skinny that Dudley could see his bones against his skin. Dudley shrugged and tried to steal Harry's quarter of a grapefruit…_

 _He was fifteen and he spent the summer finding kids to beat up. Most of the kids avoided the playground now, and it gave him a rush to know he was in charge of the place. Reginald had it coming after all, and no one could argue that Dudley was the best fighter…_

 _The visions suddenly changed. Instead of memories of the past, Dudley saw himself, but older. His future self did not look well- he was grossly overweight, and still going around the neighborhood with Piers, Gordon, and the gang. Only this time, the ten-year-old they were beating up didn't move after Gordon dealt the last blow. The girl's eyes were open and unblinking, and blood trickled out of the corner of her mouth. They all ran away, leaving the corpse on the playground…_

 _He was wearing an orange jumpsuit and facing a court. Piers was in the booth next to him and both were handcuffed. Gordon was on the stand, crying crocodile tears as he described his desperate attempts to stop them from killing little Matilda…_

 _He sat in his jail cell and wished he had ice for his bruised eyes. The other inmates didn't like child abusers (and that was apparently what he was now). He wondered how his life came to this…_

 _He was working in a Tesco's bagging groceries. It was the best he could do with a criminal record.._

 _He was in a hospital bed, dying from heart problems. He glanced around, but realized he was alone…_

 _The visions suddenly stopped, but Dudley couldn't bring himself to look around. He was certain he would see the jail cell, or the hospital bed. Maybe he would see even worse. Distantly he felt arms pulling at him, a vaguely familiar voice conversing with a much more familiar voice (teary green eyes, bones showing through skin). He thought his could feel his feet moving but wasn't sure. Finally he started to recognize where they were. There was his front door, and his mum's startled face. He could hear his dad's shouts (messy black hair being gripped hard, a skinny figure shoved in a cupboard) and suddenly felt sick. He was pretty sure he was retching all over his mother's prized Persian carpet, but the world seemed to blur around him. Eventually everything was quiet apart from his mum's fussing, but nothing could silence the memories that were burned into his brain. The magic things ("dementors" his cousin had said) may be gone, but the visions they had drawn out of him didn't leave._

That day had a profound impact on Dudley. It was shocking for him to suddenly be shown, in vivid detail, what a terrible person he had become. He had never questioned his family's treatment of Harry before. Harry was a freak, one of "them," not quite even human, and deserved everything his parents did to him. Being forced to see the difference between how he was treated and how Harry was treated called into question everything he thought he knew about how his family worked. From there it wasn't hard to realize that if how they treated Harry was wrong, then using weak excuses to beat up little kids (excuses, he could see that they were excuses now) was wrong too. The most disturbing part of the memories, which he could only conclude was a vision of the future, gave him the most motivation to change his view of the world. For all that he might not be that bright, Dudley knew that he didn't want to end up in prison or dying in a hospital bed alone.

He decided to change his ways in the following years, however difficult it may be. Piers wasn't happy about his ideas of not picking on little kids, but Dudley eventually convinced him to get into skateboarding instead. When Harry came back, Dudley tried to be nicer to him. He didn't once tease him or bully him. Dudley didn't really know what he could do to be better to Harry (this was all sort of new to him) so he put tea near Harry's door. His cousin seemed distracted these last few summer, and Dudley wasn't even sure he noticed. Perhaps it was better that way. Harry had spent too many years being "noticed" by Dudley and his friends.

Now things were changing very quickly. With Harry's seventeenth birthday coming up, Dudley and his family were in danger; they would have to move. No more Piers, no more playground, no more skateboarding or boxing. But several weeks later as he stood downstairs on moving day, he knew it was for the better. If he could avoid more of the terrifying dementors, or Death Munchers, or Inferi (which he was pretty sure were zombies) moving would be worth it. They would even have these two strange magical people as guides and protectors (Hesta and Wiggle? Something like that). As they prepared to head out of number four Private Drive for a final time, there was only one thing Dudley was confused about.

"Why isn't he coming too?" he asked with a glance at his cousin.

There was a stunned silence from his parents and cousin. The Magic-people just seemed confused, but Dudley was more concerned with Harry staying here. For better or worse, Harry had always been a constant in his life. They were all in danger, and it was still summer, so why was Harry not coming with them to safety?

"Well, he- he doesn't want to" his dad said. Dad turned to Harry "You don't want to, do you?"

"Not in the slightest" his cousin replied.

Dad tried to hustle them out again, but Dudley stayed put. He was still confused. He doubted Harry really wanted to stay with them in past summers, but he still had to for some reason. Now he suddenly had a choice? It didn't make sense. Did Dad kick him out? Where was Harry supposed to go, if he wasn't with them and his magic school was out of session.

"But where's he going to go?" Dudley asked his parents. They seemed confused and worried for some reason, as if Dudley was the one being unreasonable. His dad blustered out some unhelpful answer and tried to hurry them out the door, offending their magic guards in the process. Dudley watched, still trying to figure out where the answer to his question was in all this (its not as if it was a difficult question after all) and only drew his attention back at Harry's proclamation that they thought Harry was a waste of space.

Because Harry wasn't a waste of space to him. Harry had saved his life with the dementors, and he really wasn't so bad anyways. Dudley could understand why Harry felt this way though. He had basically been treated as a waste of space by the Dursley family his entire life. Dudley remembered the memories from the dementor attack, still burned into his brain years later. Harry being constantly ignored in favor of him, Harry being thrown around by his dad because he was different.

"I don't think you're a waste of space." Dudley said. He had to tell Harry, because Harry certainly wasn't going to hear it from Mum and Dad. At Harry's incredulous stare, Dudley blushed bright red. It was probably the kindest thing he had ever said to Harry, and Dudley was acutely aware of that shameful fact.

"Well…er…thanks, Dudley." Harry replied, not quite meeting Dudley's eyes. It seemed that Harry was just as uncomfortable with the sudden display of almost affection as Dudley was. It occurred to Dudley that the biggest harm done to Harry wasn't from Dad's manhandling, or his Harry Hunting days. The biggest harm to Harry was the total lack of caring they had shown to him. Harry didn't know how to receive affection, or deal with his emotions. Cold apathy could be more harmful than any punch. Dudley was reminded of a quote from a play he had been forced to read that year. "These violent delights have violent ends." The actual play was mind-numbingly boring (except the sword fights) but that line had stuck with him. Dudley had caused Harry harm from a young age, and now it was coming back to bite him. This parting they were facing might not be a violent end, but the tension and discomfort they both felt in the face of Dudley sudden caring made his stomach jerk painfully. Dudley didn't know what to say to Harry to make him understand how he had changed.

"You saved my life." He finally settled on. It was the event that had triggered the change after all. Dudley wasn't very good with words, but perhaps that would make Harry understand.

"Not really. It was your soul the dementor would have taken…" Apparently not.

His mum burst in to tears and showered him with praises, but Dudley was more interested in making Harry _understand._ He just couldn't leave Harry like this when he may never see his cousin again. He detangled himself from his mum's arms and walked over to Harry, who stiffened slightly at his approach. Dudley considered how he would tell Piers he respected him and liked him. He stuck out his hand to Harry, hoping his cousin would understand what he was trying to convey.

Harry stared at the outstretched hand for a moment before gingerly taking it. "Bilmey Dudley, did the dementors blow a different personality into you?"

"Dunno," he muttered. In truth, yes they had. Or rather, they had pulled out the old personality he could have had. The personality he had started to bury at six years old until it was nothing but a tiny shriveled shred stored in the caverns of his heart.

"See you Harry."

"Yeah…" Harry said, "Maybe. Take care, Big D."

It was the use of his nickname, the one Harry had mocked years ago, that told Dudley that Harry understood what he was trying to say. That Dudley knew that things growing up weren't right, and that he needed to change. That maybe things weren't perfect now, but he could try his best to fix it. Dudley felt his lips twitch, and knowing his message was received, lumbered outside to the car.

* * *

Hours later, Dudley was staring at the trees flashing by his window. They were heading to wherever the safehouse the wizards picked out was. Dudley had no idea where they were going, but he didn't really know enough about geography to have a preference. His cousin was left behind, in an empty house where he had never really belonged, but ironically would be the last one to leave.

"These violent delights have violent ends" Dudley thought, "but with every ending there's a new beginning". Perhaps he could make this his new beginning. A new house, new school, and new friends meant he could change himself completely if he tried hard enough. Maybe it would work. Maybe not. Either way, at least he had a chance now to make a new beginning for himself. He hoped, if his cousin was alive when this war was over, Harry could have a new beginning as well.

* * *

 **A/N- So here I wanted to show a different side of Dudley. Yeah, he's a jerk as a kid but he gets better by the end of the series. Since I know it will come up, no he didn't actually have a dementor-induced vision of the future. The dementors feed off fear, and I figured that Dudley could have those fears deeply hidden. These fears could be drawn out by the dementors. Not all fears take the form of memories after all.**

 **Any feedback is appreciated. Also feel free to request characters, I'll get to them eventually!**


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